


The Coffee Shop

by cuddle_me_carl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddle_me_carl/pseuds/cuddle_me_carl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man finds himself in a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Haaa. I know it's like super short. But I think this is one of my favourites so I thought I would post it...

It is two pm on a cloudy fall day.

I seem to be sitting at a small wooden table which has a slight wobble. A coffee cup, still warm to the touch, sits before me and the smell of freshly baked cakes and cookies surrounds me.

“What am I doing here” I wonder, the reason for my presence does not come to mind…for that matter, memories of anything do not come to mind.

A young waitress quickly rushes past, the smell of her pear perfume fills my nose, her light brown hair flies behind her.

“What is the rush, lovely” I wonder to myself, or so I thought. I had mistakenly spoken the words quite loudly, so much so she turned angrily glaring in my direction.

Glaring of course, until her eyes met mine.

In this moment, everything changed, her flushed cheeks drained until pale, her emerald eyes grew dim and as the shiver of almost fear itself traveled throughout her body she managed to quietly whisper the words “Aren’t you…”.

Pausing, I only imagine composing herself. Seconds pass, minutes it almost seems, until she finally blurts “Aren’t you the man who jumped in front of the President last week?”

Well that would explain everything, being pummeled to the ground by those bulky Secret Service agents would be enough to cause anyone’s memory to be lacking...but I was still confused, had that happened… shouldn’t I be in custody? I look around the room; the surrounding customers have taken interest in our encounter and have started to stare.

My eyes quickly spot an old newspaper earlier thrown to the ground; the front page story was of a man who had defended the President a week prior.

The look of confusion and panic cross my face and my heart races, could that have been me?

She notices my reaction and turns quickly in order to resume her work, whispering under her breath, “It can’t be… he died that day…”


End file.
